


Shatter

by OsirisGalaxy



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisGalaxy/pseuds/OsirisGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her mother had died looking into Rishid’s eyes, speaking her final words to him, and Isis was forgotten." An AU where Isis grew a dark side rather than Malik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter

He never stopped crying.

Malik had been a terror upon the household from the day he was born. Not only did he take their mother away from them, but the serenity of the tomb went with her gentle smiles and soft, cool hands. Isis had held desperately onto on of those hands as her father, silent and cold as desert night, went with his attendants to bath the newborn in moonlight. Customs, rituals, that’s what occupied his mind, not the sobs of his daughter or the blood of his wife pouring out of her body like a broken jug. Rishid had been there, but he didn’t hold onto his mother like Isis, he knew that she was beyond saving. So when she turned her head to speak her final words to him, Isis felt something inside her shatter, cracks spiderwebbing across every bone as she willed her mother to turn her head back, to give her that gentle and knowing look they only ever gave to each other.

But she had fallen still, the grasp of her hand around Isis’ going slack and utterly lifeless. Irrationally she thought if she held on tighter, if she shook her mothers shoulder, than it was rouse her from such a sleep, but nothing happened. Her mother had died looking into Rishid’s eyes, speaking her final words to him, and Isis was forgotten.

It wasn’t only then. All at once she seemed to fade from importance. Her mother had been the only one that seemed to ever have need of her. Even Rishid, who had been her playmate, was now occupied by tending to Malik as his servant. Malik who squalled and shrieked and struggled at every given opportunity, Malik who wouldn’t even let her hold him without either starting to cry or taking the opportunity to pull at her hair and earrings. After the third time she never asked to hold him again.

With so much time to herself she had plenty of opportunities to contemplate her position, her failures. If only she had been born an heir, then there would have been no need to conceive that child. Sometimes she let her imagination wander, imagined that instead of her father it had been Apep and his cunning that forced that hellspawn into her mother, and then out of her again in the most gruesome way. She would imagine a slithering serpent creeping into the tomb, thick as a horse and red as blood, who would reclaim Malik as his own and, once satisfied, spit her mother from its gaping jaws and slither away again, and they would all be happy like before. But even with the difficulties between her and her younger brother, waves of guilt always washed over her after these fantasies. Malik hadn’t chosen to hurt their mother, and when she saw his rare sweet side she knew he would never have done so even if he had the thought capacity to make such a choice. Malik, it seemed, wanted to be gentle, but could never bring himself to be just that. He would offer her a wreath of flowers he painstakingly collected one minute, and then swat and her ankles as he had a fit on the floor the next. Rishid was the only one who could calm him, and at times it seemed he was only one of them the future tomb guardian truly cared about. He had been charged with watching over him after all, but mother had forgotten to give Isis a task as well.

Most of her time was spent reading the ancient texts that Malik skimmed and Rishid had no time to peruse. The only praise she ever received from their father was because of this. She had been seated in their library and lost in a text, another exploit of the nameless pharaoh they protected with their immortal souls, when he entered looking for some spell codex or another.

“What are you reading?” He had asked, and for a moment Isis hadn’t bothered to answer, since he was never talking to her in these situations, but no one else said anything, and when she looked over her shoulder she found that he was looking at her expectantly.

“History. Of the Pharaoh.” She managed to croak as a reply, and he had nodded in approval. 

“It’s good you learn these things. It keeps your mind sharp, and our history is the backbone of our clan.” Then he left, but Isis was glowing. Attention starved, even a half-shown interest made her walk on air for the next few weeks, only to be crushed when she tried to tell him of a feat that particularly impressed her and he barked at her to leave him at peace. She had thrown the scroll at the wall of the library and never picked it up again.

But Malik, seven at the time, had come to her then, having heard the exchange from the courtyard. “Isis?”

“What?” Her face was buried in her arms on her straw pallet, and he carefully sat cross-legged in front of her. Not having a bed to sleep in was foreign to him. 

“You can tell me about your story if you want.”

He was sincere, and Isis felt that old guilt from wishing harm on him rise up in her throat. Tears were falling before she could stop them and Malik had placed his hand on hers. How could she have hated him then? Rather, she wished they could trade places, that she could be the heir and he would be the one who needed comfort and reassurance in the face of neglect. They remained that way until she had wept herself to exhaustion, and when she woke up he was gone and she could hear him laughing and playing with Rishid in the courtyard.

How she wanted someone to love her. The ache rested like a cancer in her ribs. Truly she had become a ghost in every way but the physical. The precious moments when Malik asked her to play a game with him or to help him sound out a word in his reading, or when Rishid asked for her opinion on something or other, kept her afloat in a sea of loneliness. When Malik went through his initiation she had asked their father to go with him, to provide some sort of comfort, only to be harshly rebuked, but not nearly to the extent that Rishid was, for he dared to offer himself in Malik’s place. As Malik’s screams echoed through the walls she had allowed herself to cry again, only to force it back again when she bathed and dressed Rishid’s self-inflicted scars. The two people she loved and hated most had been flayed open, and when she wished she could’ve joined them and shared their pain a new loathing burst in her. How dare she want such agony? Such suffering? Was she jealous? Yes. She was jealous that they had a physical indication of their worth now, Malik as more precious than gold and jewels, and Rishid under his heel. They knew their places, Isis had no place. Forgotten again. She could’ve screamed, but no sound escaped, not even when Rishid went to show Malik the devotion written across his face and she was alone. She could see the moon through the one small vent in the ceiling, and it bathed her in light and all she wanted to do, and all she couldn’t do, was shriek and feel alive.

If there was a way to make them appreciate her, to make them smile again, she would do it. she would’ve walked across embers, burned their thousand year old texts to ash, but Rishid asked something far more grave. She was the only one who had been to the surface, once when she was small and their fellow tombkeepers had her pick out some type of medicine her father had told them to fetch, and sent her to make sure it was correct. Malik had been an infant then, and rife with fever. The medicine had helped, but she had never gone to the surface again, yet somehow Rishid trusted her completely with the task of giving Malik one look at the sun.

She didn’t even think twice. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for, the act that would make them bring her into their fold and they would be as siblings were meant to be, and she would finally have a place. Sneaking Malik out was less difficult than she imagined, and they had trekked for a mile when the town from all those years ago came into view, almost completely unchanged. The light the initiation had taken from Malik’s eyes returned, and he flitted from one thing to the next, this tiny corner of the world already holding more than he had ever been allowed to possess underground. He would point to something and ask its name, and Isis would rake her mind for an answer, always making it sound confident even if it wasn’t. She did remember the place between the buildings where they walked, the street, and also the name of the light box with the moving pictures, a television. Malik had been transfixed by the vehicle on the surface, and when he begged to keep a book of similar machines Isis had no will in her to deny him, not when he looked the happiest he had been since he was branded with the clan’s sacred knowledge.

But it couldn’t last. They returned to Rishid’s blood on the floor of the ceremonial chamber and a whip in their father’s hand. He had been merciless, even threatened the two of them, his own flesh and blood, with the sting of his wrath. Rishid’s cries of agony, Malik’s screaming and pleading, the noise rose and rose higher, reverberating off the walls and penetrating those deep, unhealed cracks left in Isis’ bones until she thought she would crumble, and she did. The world went dark and numb for a few long breaths. Peace, warmth, an ease in her limbs, the darkness gave her all of these. It kissed her cheeks and her horrors away until she was whole again, a real being with something that loved her deeply. But just as quickly as it came, it went away.

When her eyes opened she shut them immediately again as something heavy and reeking of iron clouded her vision and slid down her long eyelashes. She unclenched her fist and dropped something heavy to the ground, but before she could ask what happened Rishid’s arms were around her. He forced her face to his chest both to shield her eyes and wipe the mess from her face, but she had wrenched herself away before he could try to stand and walk them out. When she turned around, Malik’s weeping form greeted her, and each sob sent a dagger through her chest. He was clinging to their father’s body, which was sitting in a pool of its own blood. Above them stood a man cloaked in white who cast his gaze to her, and he spoke so softly only she could hear.

“It the will of the Pharaoh that brought your father’s demise. He is returning, history will repeat itself, and the time of the tombkeepers is coming to an end.” When she blinked he was gone, and Rishid had limped over to Malik and pulled him from the body. The boy’s knees were wet with their fathers blood, and Rishid whispered words of comfort that didn’t seem to calm him down. Isis reached for her brother, but when her hand drew near he swatted it away and buried his face in Rishid’s shoulder. The hurt could’ve broken her in half. She saw the millennium rod on the ground, unsheathed and sticky, while the necklace on the other side of the room remained untouched.

They left as soon as Rishid could move without difficulty. The decision to take the items had been a last minute one, Isis with the rod and Malik with the necklace. For some reason he refused to touch the rod, and neither he or Rishid would explain why, so it was hers to look after. The powers it possessed were even more potent than the legends had made them out to be, but she only used them when she absolutely had to. Even if her home was lost to her, even if her family was broken, she could try to honor herself and their disgraced clan with her actions. The tombkeepers were desecrated, thousands of years of order and tradition broken with their absence, but the thought that kept Isis awake at night when they slept in boxes or over vents wasn’t of regret. Their lives, ones stained with suffering, would not have been so if their clan had never been appointed to the monumental task of protecting the Pharaoh’s secrets. Their mother would be alive, their father wouldn’t have been murdered, and Malik and Rishid wouldn’t have the scars that would still ache on hot nights. She knew how much Malik detested his markings, and how Rishid felt his pain, and it was a camaraderie that she was once again kept out of. Wanting their pain became a secret that was getting harder and harder to hide, like her simmering anger that they once again found a way to exclude her. It wasn’t as though she could make her own now, they would find her deplorable for such a selfish act. She began to make her own markings in charcoal in places they couldn’t see: her thighs, across her ribs, her stomach. With sick satisfaction she noticed her penmanship was far better than both their father’s and Rishid’s.

While she was above using the items to take advantage of people, Malik was not. He would use the necklace to see where and when people would drop or forget expensive things, from wallets and purses to entire bags of luggage. Rishid didn’t exactly approve, but he wasn’t in any sort of position to disagree, so he reluctantly reaped the benefits of Malik’s theft. They could afford food now, but it all tasted bitter to Isis. Hadn’t they brought enough shame to the Ishtars? Their clan had toiled for generations underground only for the three of them to destroy everything their ancestors worked for, even if that was the worship of a cruel and murderous King. Malik didn’t seem to care, he seemed relieved to be rid of their legacy. He disregarded the sacrifices that brought him into being, and so she would disregard him. She left one night without a word, smearing the words she had written on her shoulder as she went.

Years passed without a word between them. Isis tried to do what was right, even when some days she found herself smiling at the thought of that blood red snake creeping through the desert and devouring her little brother while he slept. She took great pains to move through life in an honest manner. She even enrolled herself in school once she reached Cairo, and because of her intelligence was able to skip multiple grades until she was above most people her age. Going to university made her feel almost normal, even if she still slept on a cot in a shelter, which she barely even minded. It was a palace compared to her life underground. But no one there knew of her past, no one was waiting in the shadows to take her back to the stifling chambers that had always reeked of death. Saying she was happy was perhaps overstating, but saying she felt safe wouldn’t be.  
Still, sometimes she longed for her brothers. Whenever she accomplished something she wished she could’ve shown them and see their proud smiles, but even then she knew that once the glow of success dulled they would shut her out again, and that thought kept her from reaching out. The path she carved for herself was all she needed to focus on, a path away from the Pharaoh she now loathed and the men in her family who had time and time again failed to make her feel loved. They didn’t even occur to her when she accepted a position with the Egyptian Historical Society and was sent to Japan for an exhibit a year later. Of course, the whole thing was centered around the nameless Pharaoh, and she was only as polite as she had to be about it. Even on the way to Domino City she imagined the plane with the artifacts falling out of the sky and disappearing into the sea, the last reminders of the King who made her family live in agony sinking into oblivion, but no such disaster occurred.

Instead, a CEO of a gaming company arrived at the museum. He made his profits from the card game a man named Pegasus had created to mirror a forbidden type of ritual of the ancient pharaohs. He was also blunt to a fault and full of himself, but at the same time confused and maybe a bit frightened under all of that bravado. He spoke of visions visiting him the night before, one of a young man obscured by shadow who commanded him to create a tournament, and that the answers were in this exhibit and also with her. The CEO didn’t exactly believe it, but it had been vivid enough to rouse some curiosity.

So Malik was ready to trigger the prophesy, odd for a boy who didn’t respect the items or their past. Of course, there was always the cards Pegasus had foolishly made and lost. Malik could want that power for himself, he had always been a terror, and he now led an organization that had been nettling at the Historical Society for two years now. This tournament would suit him well, especially with two of the stolen cards in his corner. Despite this possibility, a fondness bloomed in her chest, one she had to force herself to not feel. She didn’t miss him or Rishid, they had hurt her too deeply.

“According to the spirits, the return of the Pharaoh is upon us. History will repeat itself, and a battle of the gods is coming. Any of this sound familiar?” He looked indignant when she glanced back at him. “It’s likely that the tournament this man wants you to host will be the stage for this.”

“I don’t see why I have to host a tournament to fulfill your delusional prophesy.” 

“You don’t. But if he’s referring to what I think he is, there may be something you can get out of it. Your friend Pegasus-”

“We aren’t friends.”

“…Pegasus sealed three Egyptian gods into cards, much like how he sealed the ka’s of other monsters. These cards carry an unprecedented power, they can only be defeated by each other. They were locked away for years, but recently they’ve been scattered. The bearers will no doubt come to the tournament to retrieve the rest. The gods will fight, the Pharaoh will return, and you could acquire the cards.”

“And why are you telling me this? What do you get out of it?” She had just smiled at him, and he scowled back. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” He turned to walk away, but then she spoke again.

“You will battle him. It is destiny.” He had stopped at that, glanced at the stone tablet she was gazing at, but shook his head.

“Still just sounds like cheap fairy tales.” With that he left the building.

The following night he announced the Battle City Tournament. 

She entered for one reason, to defeat the man who destroyed her family. Even though she would have to face her brothers, the pain she tried to bury under learning and work, it would all be worth it if she could meet the Pharaoh. She could look him in the eye and tell him everything he had done, everything he had taken away, and make him wish he had never forced her clan into the bowels of the earth to serve him. Winning enough locator cards was a simple task, especially because the last god card, Obelisk, had been given to her for safekeeping. As she had expected, Malik and Rishid were there as well, still utterly distinct and recognizable despite the years and the pseudonyms. They didn’t seem to recognize her beneath her veil and that worked just fine, she didn’t think she could bear to say a word to either of them, no matter how desperately she wanted things to be different and how much she denied that simple fact. She watched with apprehension as Malik communicated silently with one of the first duelist, the inexplicable owner of the ring now possessed by a malicious spirit, and she did nothing when the boy suffered Osiris’ wrath. Malik wasn’t unaffected, even under his disguise, so he could summon a capacity to care about a stranger, but not her? The resentment in her only grew, but she harnessed it to keep her focused. The Pharaoh had emerged from the millennium puzzle and was now controlling its vessel. He would know her anger soon enough, and she felt energized by her hate. It would have gone smoothly had Rishid not fallen.

The lightning was a direct result of the surging power of the duel, and both Rishid and his opponent were electrocuted. Isis’ blood became ice when she saw her brother motionless on the ground, and somehow she knew Malik was in stunned silence as well among the cries of shock. Someone was trying to enter the battle deck, but guards were holding him back and Rishid still wasn’t moving even when she tried to use the rod that she had hid in her cloak to rouse him. she had a mistake, an awful mistake, and something was waiting to snap apart in her to splinter her bones again and her head was pounding and before she could even realize what happened, darkness consumed her once more.

She didn’t feel that same comfort as before, this wasn’t to protect her. Instead of being taken to a safe place, she was disembodied, looking down on her body. The veil was whipped by the stormy breeze, giving occasional flashes of a manic smile hidden beneath it. Her eyes were wide but dull, empty of something vital that made her gaze chilling to meet. The muscles in her hands were strained and bulging, and her shoulders bunched with tension as the sinews screamed beneath the skin. Her body knew something was wrong. But the laugh was what truly set Isis alight with fear. It didn’t sound like any sound she thought she was capable of making, like metal scraping against glass, and it turned into a long, shrill scream, the scream she hadn’t let herself release for six years. Rishid’s opponent staggered to his feet only to cover his ears from the unbearable sound, and medics rushed to Rishid’s aid. She could see Malik frozen in place, clutching the millennium necklace he wore, looking at her in that same way he had the day their father died, pure terror. Her jaw snapped shut, teeth clacking, and the sound ceased.

Malik was the first to speak, but he didn’t come toward her. “Isis?”

“No.” Her body responded, taking a step forward. “The weak one is gone, and now I live. But you,” It was almost to the crowd of duelists, and when it was only a foot away from Malik it’s head cocked to the side so sharply it was a wonder her neck didn’t snap. “You will die.”

Isis had seen her hand reach for the rod and screamed for Malik to watch out, but no one could hear her and it was only when the unsheathed dagger was coming down on Malik’s chest did the man with dark hair and copious amounts of red clothing stop her arm. Her strength that she hadn’t known her muscles to possess may have been too much for him, had his tall companion not taken the opportunity to push her back by her shoulders. She hadn’t quite stumbled, but moved back and was grinning again. “Soon enough, son of Apep, you will know my fury.” Isis finally breathed a sigh of relief when her body, or rather, whatever was controlling it, resheathed the rod’s sharp point and stalked away.  
“Son of Apep…” Malik had whispered to himself, but he had no time to contemplate these words before the rest of the duelists and companions were upon him, asking questions as Rishid was taken away.

“How do you know her?”

“What just happened?”

“She tried to kill you!”

“Enough!” Malik interrupted their onslaught of questions, and he resisted a nervous shudder as old memories tried to repeat themselves in his head. “That woman is my sister, Isis.”

“Well, Malik,” Rishid’s opponent said weakly, but with no less anger. His identity, revealed during the duel, was doing him no favors. “what’s going on with her?”  
“This hasn’t happened since we were children…”

“Cut to the chase!”

“Alright!” His hand was on the necklace again, gripping it like it would somehow provide solace. “Isis…has a dark side. Another person living in her. I don’t know how long she’s had it but it was quiet until the day Rishid, the man who fought in my name, suffered at the hands of our father. Something in her snapped, and she killed him.”

No. The Pharaoh killed their father. The man standing right next to Malik, that had been his murderer. The spirit had said so to her, had delivered the prophesy, how could he have lied? All of this hate towards that King, all of that blame, but this whole time she had been the one. It all made sense now, the blood on her face had been from the wounds she inflicted, the object she dropped had been the rod, and Malik hadn’t wanted to touch it or her because of what she had done.

“We couldn’t tell her, she was already so full of misery that we knew this would break her. She said a spirit told us that the Pharaoh we guarded was our father’s killer, and we had no choice but to let her believe that lie and grow to hate the very King we were brought up to worship, who I already despised for making us live in tombs and tear each other open. So we kept it secret, and we ran away. The rod and my necklace were in the care of the tombkeepers, and we knew that the clan would fall apart once we were gone, so we took the most valuable things there. I used this to survive and build a life, she never used the rod until now. One night we argued about the items. I didn’t see what was wrong in using them to survive, but she thought I was disgracing our clan. She wanted to avenge them the same as I, but through different means. The next day she was gone, and we had no choice to keep pressing forward. I built the ghouls by using my necklace to predict when and where items of value would appear, how they would be guarded, and when was the best time to strike, including two god cards. We didn’t hear about her for years until we saw her name associated with the exhibit at your museum. I thought I could find her and bring her back to us, as well as find the last god card and defeat the Pharaoh myself.” He shot a look to the man in question, but pressed on. “Until Rishid was hurt. Rishid was our protector when we were young, he’s the oldest of us three and not of our bloodline. He’s the steady point of the turning world, so to speak. The shock likely brought that dark side out, but its me she wants dead. I think I know why, and truly, I understand.” Isis felt a strange sensation, like she wanted to cry, but it was impossible without a body. She had never thought Malik was sensitive to her insecurities, her deepest and most shameful hatred. “Our mother died giving birth to me, and I was considered the most important person in our clan at their expense. I don’t think she or Rishid have ever forgiven me for these things.”

“We can help you.” The Pharaoh said, and there was true sincerity in his voice. “We can bring her back.”

Malik’s glare could’ve burned through steel. “Don’t mistake me for an ally. This changes nothing, you’re still the cause of all of this. Once I have her back, we’ll both destroy you.” He then spat at the Pharaoh’s feet and stormed off.

Isis had never considered that perhaps Malik had known of her feelings all this time, how he might have struggled with the knowledge that deep down, his sister saw him as the source of all that was wrong and painful in her life. And yet he still reached out for her, had set the prophesy in motion for her, and now still had hope for her. We’ll both destroy you. How she hoped it would come to pass.

But now she was alone in the dark night. Everyone had gone inside, and with their absence she felt just how hollow she felt, physically and emotionally. Her other self was a bottomless well of rage and hurt, a lifetime of anger about to go on a rampage. There had to be a way to undo its existence, Malik and the Pharaoh certainly spoke as if there was.  
It wasn’t so simple. A duelist to her other self’s madness. Every time she was buckled and shuddering with pain the other personality would turn to Malik, who watched on. “Serpent’s son, destroyer of light, your existence is what moves my hand. Perhaps if you hadn’t been born, all would be well. No one would be in pain, you parasite, you bastard!” It would then laugh, drag nails down Isis’s arms and leave deep marks there, much like the ones Isis used to draw on herself in a desperate attempt to feel wanted and included. “Your misery fuels me, I can taste it in the air. You blame the Pharaoh but if you hadn’t existed, your father would be alive and your clan would be thriving, wouldn’t they?”  
Malik hadn’t responded to any of the abuse, but the hurt was shown in the subtle twitches and and quirks of his jaw, of the way he cracked his knuckles when she looked at him and never tore his eyes from her first. When he wasn’t watching her duel he was with Rishid, staring at his motionless but somehow living form. Isis suspected that their years together had been turbulent from how reluctant Malik was to touch him, even to simply adjust his blankets. There was true regret in every movement, and Isis felt the core of her hatred soften. She remembered that Malik hadn’t chosen to take their mothers life, hadn’t chosen to be the heir. hadn’t appointed Rishid as his servant. She had hated him for things he had no control over.

“I’m sorry.” She could feel herself slipping away as she said that in the dawn hours before the finals. Malik had been disqualified, and now it was her other personality that grew stronger by the minute, Kaiba, Jounouchi, and the Pharaoh who would duel. Her brother hadn’t been able to hear her, and he moved for the first time in hours to seek out someone he had intended to obliterate.

“Pharaoh.” He stood before the man who had forced them into generations of servitude, but instead of the hatred he had displayed before, he was only weary. “Please…” He had to steel himself to look him in the eye, to keep his voice even. “Please save my sister. She’s good under all of this hate, better than I am. But she’s lost. In return I’ll surrender to you, and you can have the secrets written on my back.”

The Pharaoh had every right to refuse and for a moment, Isis thought he would and she would be devoured by oblivion. But to their surprise he nodded in affirmation, and when he spoke it was the regal air they had been told to expect since they were children. “I will help you, Malik Ishtar. If there is a way to save your sister I will find it.” It was a promise, and Malik gave a a soft “thank you” before retreating from his sight.

It was then Isis felt a glimmer of the long lost admiration she had felt for this nameless monarch. In her readings she had learned of all the great feats he had performed, and had imagined them over and over in wonder. With her father’s rejection and the lies of the man in white, she had forgotten of the traits those stories had stressed at every chance, of his just nature, his bravery, his sacrifice. Maybe she could never forgive him for how her family toiled in misery in his forgotten name, but she could move on, divorce her clan’s tribulations from the man himself. Maybe, if he could indeed save her.

Before this could come to pass her dark half had taken another, the finalist Jounouchi. He had put up a worthy fight, but in the end succumbed to defeat. Her laughter had permeated every part of the tower they battled on, and Isis wanted nothing more than to destroy her, even if it meant losing herself. Perhaps she deserved to be lost. “When will you fight me, murderer?” She asked Malik, who looked as though he would leap at her throat. “I grow weary of these games, I want your agony.”

“If you win against the Pharaoh, you may have it.” He replied in a tone as hard as granite, and one of those jaw-fraying grins had crossed over her face again.

“Your blood is mine, son of Apep.”

Another duel was fought between Kaiba and the Pharaoh before they could proceed. As Isis had suspected, Set’s descendant lost the fight, but not before Jounouchi had recovered and gave the Pharaoh the strength he needed to push Kaiba to defeat. Now came the duel for her fate, and her other self was so eager its was clawing at itself again, even tearing away the remnants of the veil so the veins bulging across her face could be seen. Every one of the spectators felt their breath hitch as the first cards were drawn, and to everyone’s surprise Isis and the host of the Pharaoh were pulled from whatever realm the half-living resided in and fixed in the air above their bodies. Malik had gasped when he saw her, and Isis saw the tears he forced himself to hide.

“When your life points decrease, a piece of your host is taken by the darkness.” Her other personality explained with mirth in its voice. “The loser disappears from this world.”

“Isis…” The Pharaoh had said through clenched teeth, and his opponent just hummed. 

The duel itself was a study in pain. Every time a piece of her faded away its absence ached, even when Isis thought she had lost the ability to feel. But truly she was almost hoping the Pharaoh would win. She wasn’t worth more than the boy across from her, goodness shined from every inch of him, but Isis had no such redeemable qualities. She had hated her brothers and yet clung to their minimal affections, she was desperate for her father’s love and had killed him when she didn’t receive it, and she had every intention to destroy a man who had enslaved her clan, even though doing so would’ve made their sacrifice a vain one. There was no reason for her to live over the young owner of the puzzle.  
When she closed her eyes and waited for the rest of her to fade away, the gods raging above them, she heard a familiar, comforting voice, shortly joined by another. It was Rishid, weak but alive, and Malik had chimed in.

“Isis.” Rishid said, enduring great pain to make himself loud enough to hear. “Please. If you can hear me. Don’t give in. This thing has invaded your thoughts and your body, but it is not you. You can reject everything it ever told you if you just fight it.”

“Please. Don’t leave us.” Malik added, almost stepping over Rishid’s words. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done to us, I’m sorry for taking mother from you-”

“You didn’t take mother from me.” Isis interrupted, that feeling of wanting to cry but being unable to rearing about again. “You were a baby, it wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. I just wanted the two of you to love me, this whole time I wanted a place beside you, that’s all.”

“It’s yours if you fight and take it.” Rishid said, and Malik nodded, but flinched when the other half of Isis roared.

“Silence! Son of Apep, you will suffer double for this insolence!”

“That’s enough.” The Pharaoh had a determination that stung like ice, but when he played his next move he had no choice but to send even more of Isis to the darkness until only half of her face remained. Her brothers watched on with anxiety, with fear that her other half laughed to feel. 

“Pathetic. You’ve lose your chance. When she’s gone, you’re next.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” An arrogant ghost of a smile appeared on the Pharaoh’s face, and with a few key plays Isis and her other personality had switched places. Isis trembled where she stood, and she looked to find her brothers waiting with bated breath for her to surrender. This would set her free, let her move on, even if there was much to be mended. Her other half was forming a scream with the only half of its mouth it had left, coming out a feeble mewl. Isis looked right into its one eye as she ceded the match, and that monster was torn to nothing with a shriek. 

The weight of her body was almost too much to bear all at once, but when she stumbled Malik’s hands were there to catch her. He was silent as a grave, eyes wide with wonder at the strength it took to do what she just did. She just managed to give him a weak smile, and that seemed to take the edge off his worry. She was handed off the Rishid, who wasn’t very strong himself, as Malik went over to the Pharaoh. He said something to him so quiet no one else could hear, but the Pharaoh had given his head a slow shake in response. Malik turned around then and hauled his shirt over his head. Isis hadn’t seen the scars in years, and they had thinned and refined themselves over time, but were no less imposing. She glanced at the jagged markings her other self had inflicted upon her arms, and with a bitter smirk remembered how smug she had felt when her charcoal-markings were neater than the real scars of her brothers. That was another thing she would have to apologize for.

Malik returned to them with a troubled disposition, but allowed himself to brighten when he met her eyes. The three of them were together again, and while they had much work to do to achieve a sense of normality, at the very least they had the beginnings of trust and comfort already. Even dashing to the Kaibacorp helicopter to escape the incoming explosion had almost been joyful, the three of them running in the fresh air they never tired of. They had plans to make, preparations for the Pharaoh, who deserved at the very least their respect and gratitude for what he had done for them. Isis finally closed her eyes and took a slow breath as the island sunk behind them, knowing the cracks in her bones were finally filled, and when she grasped the hands of her brothers they each laced their fingers with hers.


End file.
